Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“When’s the last time you took a woman out to dinner?”
Never. “We ate at Dick’s together.”
“We shoveled food into our mouths while standing at one of the prep tables. That isn’t the same.”
“Depends on who you ask.”
She stared at him with that elusive smile long gone. “What are you doing, Rome?”
“What d’you mean?”
“What. Are. You. Doing? What is all this?” She fluttered a hand around in the air. “Why are you suddenly wanting me to wear your cut? You, a known womanizer and perpetual bachelor.”
“Maybe that ambush woke me up and got me realizin’ life’s too fuckin’ short.”
“I’m sure you knew that before you were introduced to a tire iron.”
“Maybe it hit it home.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“Maddie…”
“Rome… I just… don’t understand this coming from you. Just because we had sex—”
“A shitload of times,” he interjected.
“Doesn’t mean I want to be your ol’ lady,” she finished. “Are you stoned?”
“Ain’t high. Ain’t drunk...” He lowered the crutch and jerked his chin toward the door. “Never fuckin’ mind. Said you gotta go, then go.”
She stared at him for far too long with her forehead creased in confusion.
He was done trying to enlighten her. She either got it or she didn’t. And it was clear…
She didn’t.
However, she paused instead of immediately sprinting the short distance to the door. “Let me think about dinner. How long are you staying up here? Do you have a meeting with Trip?”
If he did, he certainly wouldn’t be staying in some shit-bag motel. He’d be at The Grove Inn, instead. But he was keeping his presence in the area on the down-low and preferred no one in the Fury knew he was up here chasing Maddie. Especially the Fury’s president, as well as Shade.
“Not sure how long I’m stayin’.” He had planned to stay long enough to convince her to head back south with him.
Unfortunately, it was looking like that wasn’t going to be easy and he couldn’t stay up here forever. His absence from both Dick’s and his MC would raise red flags in his own brotherhood.
“You let me know. When you do, either gonna be here or ain’t.”
“If you aren’t, I know where to find you,” she said as she headed out the door.
“Doubt you’ll even bother to look,” he muttered to the door after she shut it behind her.
If he was goddamn smart, he’d to head home and forget this woman ever fucking existed.
But he was simple and forgetting her would be impossible.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A muffled sound, sounding way too fucking close, had his eyes flashing open.
What the fuck was that?
Roaches? A rat?
“Booger?”
The prospect didn’t have a key to his room, so it had to be fucking roaches. This motel grew them as big as fucking ponies.
Before he could turn on the bedside lamp to make those bastards scatter, he found himself pinned down to the bed.
“What the fuck?” he shouted.
Jesus Christ! Did La Cosa Nostra track him down up here in Parsington? Were they here to finish the job?
Where the fuck did he put his gun? Could he even shoot with his left hand since his right arm was fucked up?
Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it now. He wouldn’t willingly go back into the hospital.
Or six feet underground.
It fucking sucked because, with broken ribs and without full use of one leg and arm, he was basically helpless. He couldn’t fight like he normally could and was at their fucking mercy.
From what he could tell in the dark and by the number of hands holding him down, it was only two men. Maybe Wick had shot and killed the third motherfucker who ambushed him. Assuming these were the same losers.
Neither intruder said a word, and both wore dark clothing along with hats pulled low. Unfortunately, the little he could see disappeared the second they yanked him up into seated position and tugged what felt like a pillowcase over his head.
Why the fuck weren’t they saying a goddamn thing?
This was not good. “Who the fuck are you? Did that asshole hire you?”
No surprise, he didn’t get a response. Instead, they yanked him off the bed and to his feet. Or, more like it, foot.
He saw stars when he bucked hard against them, trying to pull free. “Lemme fuckin’ go. You’re makin’ a fuckin’ mistake you don’t wanna make. Promise you that. You’re gonna be hunted down like fuckin’ rabid dogs.”
He couldn’t hide his grunts of pain as they wrapped a rope around his bare waist and manhandled him so they could bind his good arm to it. Clearly, they didn’t give a shit that he was already fucked up and, for the most part, unable to fight them off.
Jesus Christ. Was he going to die only wearing his skivvies? In a goddamn roach motel?
He released a searing curse when they tightened the rope even more, causing sharp pains to radiate from his broken ribs.